For a Friend
by Protector of the Gray Fortress
Summary: Two short stories written for and dedicated to VHunter, a brilliant reviewer and a good friend. 1. Holmes and Watson and some late night difficulty in Baker Street. 2. Thoughts from a certain midshipman.
1. One for laughter

Despite Watson's descriptions of my infrequent insomnia, I do not usually find it difficult to fall asleep when I want too. It is merely a matter of clearing your mind and allowing your body to follow the natural processes of slumber.

This night was an exception, with the successful conclusion of my last case I had no reason to remain awake and was attempting for once, to rest, but for an unknown reason, sleep eluded me, and despite the softness and comfort of my bed I could only toss and turn upon sheets that I found constricting and hot.

I seemed to catch every noise and creak that our apartment and the surrounding streets offered, and every time I would begin to drift off I would jerk back to full alertness.

At last in disgust I rose from my bed and slipped into the sitting room to where Watson had left his medical bag.

It was easy to find and locate one of the sleeping powders by the light of the coals still glowing in the grate, and in only a few moments of swallowing the mixture in a glass of water, I found that my head and eyes were very heavy, and when I next laid my head on my pillow I quickly drifted off.

Which is why I was puzzled when I next awoke to find my room still dark.

I sat up, my head still heavy and my mind fuzzy with sleep. A glance at my watch confirmed that it was only three I the morning.

What the devil had awoken me?

Answer came by way of a muffled thud above me, and a voice.

Watson.

I relaxed slightly and sighed. In the early days that I had spent with my friend I had known him to be prone to nightmares due to the horrors that he had seen in war. As time had passed they had grown more and more infrequent until they rarely occurred at all.

Now must be one of those rare occurrences. I sighed and for a moment considered going up to his room…I knew better than most the icy fear and uncertainty that came with dreams such as those.

But no…Watson was a kind soul and as humble a man as I had ever met, but he was entitled to his pride and I had no doubt that he would be ashamed if his memories brought me to his aide.

It was better to let the matter pass, I laid back down and closed my eyes again. intending to return to sleep, so as to avoid the urge to go upstairs and make certain all was well with him.

Another noise drew my eyes back open, this one was softer than the first and was soon followed by a series of similar noises.

I sat up again...feeling the beginnings of unease in my chest…something was not quite right.

Silence filled the flat once more as I sat..waiting for any more sound.

None came…and I was beginning to think that maybe I was just a little paranoid...when at last I heard it.

A whisper…as any trained criminal would tell you there is nothing so telling of stealthy intentions than a whisper, and my ears were naturally drawn to it.

In an instant I had pulled on my dressing gown and made my way to the side door of my bedroom, the one facing the hall, taking up a poker from the fire I took the handle and eased It open a crack.

No sooner had I done so then more noises reached my ears, stealthy footsteps, and more whispers, from more than one voice. I sucked in my breath when several shadowy figures came into view down on the steps, descending from the second floor.

The second floor…Watson's bedroom. I felt a chill of fear as the full import of my discoveries struck me and the poker shook in my grip as I swallowed, trying to get ahold of myself.

I waited until the leader drew even with my door and passed it just barely before swinging it open and striking him a sharp blow with my elbow.

My aim was true and he doubled over with a wheezing groan that was lost in the cries of alarm and vehement oaths of his cohorts. One fellow, the second, was quicker than I had supposed he would be and in an instant he had recovered from his shock and ran into me, catching his hands on my shoulders and ramming me into the wall.

My head struck rather sharply and I yelped twisting away from his grip and jabbing the blunt end of the poker into his stomach.

He shouted and drew back before throwing a wild punch at my face which I easily ducked. I stuck out my leg and gave him a neat shove forward, sending him tripping into his companion.

I turned to find that the last two men were not attacking, but rather stood aside…and at once I realized why when I saw that one of the figures arms were being secured by the other and the lower half of his face was covered by someone's muffler.

Ah.

My relief prompted a smile and I let out my breath. "I thought I'd heard you up my dear Watson."

I expected him to glare in exasperation but instead his eyes flickered in alarm to a spot just beyond my shoulder, and I whirled just in time to block a wild blow from the first man.

I suffered several of his badly executed punches, these really were common thugs, and managed to drive him back with a sock on the jaw.

When I turned back it was to find that Watson had managed to give his would-be kidnapper a great deal of grief, and a carefully placed foot of mine managed to trip him up enough for me to pull the loose bindings from Watson's hands.

He yanked the muffler off his face with a gasp as I his attacker up from the floor.

"Are you alright?" I grunted, dodging another fist and driving my own into the man's stomach.

"Quite alright." My Boswell answered a bit breathlessly before hurrying to intercept the second of the thugs who was headed straight for my back. "What the devil kept you?"

I laughed as he downed the thug with one hook on the jaw. "One of your sleeping powers…I-"

I cut short as my attacker managed a lucky blow to my abdomen. I grunted and tossed him just as I had done to the other earlier, sending him face down onto the edge of the steps where he lay quite still.

"Couldn't sleep." I finished, bending to make certain that the fellow still had a pulse.

Watson sighed and straightened adjusting his own dressing gown which had gotten quite tangled in the attempted abduction and ensuing struggle.

I scrutinized him to reassure myself that he was unharmed and he noticed my gaze. "What is it?"

"You don't look as though you were asleep."

"No I was reading."

"And you didn't hear them coming!?"

The good doctor reddened. "Well…I…I suppose not but…"

He stopped as suddenly the man third man regained his feet and took off down the stairs.

Watson cursed and took off after him, I followed him to the bottom of the steps and watched as he caught the man at the door and downed him neatly. He pulled the villains hands behind him and secured them with the same muffler that still hung about his neck, then got to his feet.

He stalked back towards me, breathing heavily and looking hardly the worse for wear from the incident, a dark bruise forming on his left cheekbone and a small split in his lip beginning to bleed.

He stuck his hands in the pockets of his dressing gown and sighed before picking up where he had left off.

"It was by a man called Haggard, I've been waiting for a while to read it and it was too engaging to put down."

I snorted, "You and your romantic drivel."

He shrugged off the comment, going in step with me up the stairs.

"Thank you, by the way."

"Not at all."

"I could do with a drink…" he stepped over the man he had downed with the right hook, still out cold. "Do you still have those handcuffs of yours? I think we may be needing them soon."


	2. One for thought

One thing that a sailor is well acquainted with is the rising and setting sun. Every morning and evening, when the heat-choked deck cools and the winds die down to a light breeze, the sky lights up in a fantastic display of light, shot with an array of impossible colors. The horizon becomes a canvas worthy of the brushstrokes of the greatest masters…and the honest seaman always has the best view of it.

This evening was no different, and he was drawn by the sight of it as he had been for the first twenty-five years of his life. The spectrum met the water and cast its fiery, red light across the living waves, giving the illusion that the sea itself was on fire. Above, the fierce colors faded imperceptibly from orange to crimson and finally to a delicate violet before it faded into the velvety blackness that stood overhead, scattered with the stars that he was so familiar with.

Lachlan sighed deeply, as though with his whole soul as he leaned on the rough stone wall, and looked out over this amazing sight. He was not standing on the familiar planks of a ship, but rather the steady ground that even after years of travel he was still not quite at home with, among the other marks of his trade he seemed to have gained a permanent pair of sea-legs that were really only happy on a swaying deck.

It was a small sacrifice, for as much as he enjoyed the sea it was lonely and wearisome after a while and he thoroughly enjoyed the excitement and pageantry that life on land offered him.

It was not the life he had been expecting and if someone had told him years ago that he would have ended up where he was now he would have scoffed outright.

As it was he would be nowhere else, and any difficulty that had come from losing his first profession was more than made up for by the challenges and adventures that he had faced since, and the friends that he had made.

Life and fate were odd things indeed, and one never knew which way their lives would turn. It had not been easy, but then it would not have been half as gratifying or interesting without the effort, and he would be a different man than he was now.

"Lachlan."

The seaman turned to see Dr. Watson hurrying up to him, smiling, his honest face glowing with happiness.

"We're waiting for you." He said breathlessly, coming to a halt beside his friend.

The good Doctor stopped and stared out at the marvelous sight even as it began to fade into darkness. He sighed and glanced at Lachlan with a kinful expression.

"Splendid isn't it?"

Lachlan nodded, watching it for a moment before shoving himself away from the wall and turning back to the road and the waiting cab.

If there is one thing a sailor is acquainted with it is life, for the sea is an unpredictable and harrowing mistress and the long uneventful hours of calm are often interrupted with storms that only go to show 

how unstable and fragile life really is. They are accustomed to change and comradeship and toil and they spend long hours with nothing else to do but ponder on these matters.

And if there is one thing they know about life…it is that the night and day are always worth living through if it means getting to see the beauty of the rising and the setting sun.


End file.
